


Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bank Robbery, Bathroom Sex, Blowjobs, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Making Out, Rich Bucky Barnes, Robin Hood - Freeform, Semi Public Sex, Sex on a Car, Steve Rogers is more devious and more like Bucky than people give him credit for, bucky is like Rich with a capital R, but also yay bucky recovery is tough do what you gotta do bud, expensive clothing, have money will spend is his motto, i didn't survive hydra to wear anything less than versace on my ass okay?, indulgence can sometimes be a good thing!, label snob bucky barnes, peacock hipster bucky barnes, recovered bucky barnes likes nice things and is a rebel, steve is hilariously into it, technically steve is rich too but it's really not a character trait in the same way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Steve and Bucky hook up and become bank robbers. Mostly because Bucky’s bored and horny and look, he likes nice things, okay? And Steve is maybe a little bit whipped. They’re ripping off assholes and giving the money to charity, okay? There’s maybe a lot of inappropriately timed boners in there, too. Sue them.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76





	Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)" by the Pet Shop Boys, which partially inspired this fic. It's a great song. Highly recommend it.
> 
> Also, I had fun writing this. It's silly and irreverent and the perfect little project for these hard times. I hope someone out there finds some comfort and laughter in it, too. Take care <3

It’s a Tuesday when Bucky resurfaces from his latest jaunt to God-knows-where (maybe shopping in Odessa with Nat?), looking like he’s about to do something bad. His hair is recently cut, falling somewhere between Winter Soldier and Sergeant Barnes, and it suits him. Messily tied up in a neat little ponytail, the curls Steve remembers from their youth are spilling out and framing Bucky’s face. His lips look a little wet, the way they get when Bucky is drunk, horny, or scheming. And that look in his eyes…Steve _knows_ that look. It’s the look that said, _let’s steal some eggs from Mr. MacGregor_ in 1936. It’s the look that said, _let’s get drunk on MacDougall’s bottle of whiskey_ in 1939. It’s the look that said, _let’s_ _fuck_ in 1941. And wow, Steve has always wished he'd been brave enough to do something other than turn away and pretend he didn't see the look that time.

These days, Steve knows, Bucky is making _bank_. He knows because he’s got the same amount of Army backpay. Also, Bucky pulled up in a black Audi R8. He’s wearing black Prada skinny jeans, Alexander McQueen studded boots, and a white t-shirt that looks cheap but Steve knows is actually a $200 designer shirt from The Row. Steve knows this because Bucky literally told him. He always tells Steve about his clothes, proud like a peacock. 1940s Bucky is definitely still in there. He gets his hair blown out once a month and literally goes shopping every other week. The man wears Versace boxer briefs, for God’s sake. He has twenty pairs. Every last one of them are black as the Winter Soldier’s muzzle mask.

Out loud, in 2022, standing on the sidewalk outside Steve’s Brooklyn apartment, Bucky opens his wet, red mouth with the stubble and the spit and says, “Let’s make lots of money.”

He follows it up with a lot of words, including the very important phrase “not just for us” but honestly? Steve only hears him distantly, and comprehends almost none of it. He can’t stop staring at Bucky’s lips, his chin, and he knows, with a damning sort of certainty, that years from now he will look back and recognize _this_ as the moment. The moment he sold out on Captain America and took Steve Rogers back. And, well, whether that ends up being a good or a bad move, only time will tell.

It’s irrevocable already, he knows. He’s in love with this Bucky. Oh, he’s loved every version, sure. He loved Bucky Barnes, the 1940s ladies man with the pomade and the magic hands. He loved Sergeant Barnes, with the precise fingers and steady gaze. He even loved the Winter Soldier, if he’s being honest, with the feral eyes and thick thighs and the ironclad will to _survive_. But this Bucky, now, today…confident, charismatic, and terrifyingly intelligent. Steve _loves_ this Bucky. The man who has _seen_ things and still chooses to grab life with both hands and pull. Who dresses how he wants, does what he wants, and maybe even _who_ he wants - someday soon, Steve hopes.

And okay, standing on the sidewalk outside his apartment, with the sun glinting off Bucky’s flashy car and nothing to distract from Bucky’s tight clothes and sexy smile staring him down, Steve’s got nothing left. All defenses down. Steve knows he will follow this man, more than any of his predecessors, absolutely anywhere.

And that’s dangerous.

Back in the day, Bucky had been known in the neighborhood for running schemes. Small, harmless things, mostly. And he used nearly all of what he earned to pay for Steve’s medicines. So he never really thought much of it. 1940s Brooklyn was “do what you gotta do to survive.” And Bucky did. For both of them, in fact.

Steve gets the sense this is a little bit of a revival, but it’s also something else. Modern Bucky is defiant in a way that none of his predecessors were. Modern Bucky likes to push for the thrill of it. And Steve, God help him, can’t stop himself. Those jeans are _so_ tight.

“Kiss me and I’ll do whatever you want,” he hears himself say. And then all of a sudden, the world spins and Steve finds his back shoved up against Bucky’s Audi, and then Bucky himself is crowding in, slotting their bodies together and slamming his mouth into Steve’s, all slick and wet and messy, tongue and teeth and lips and spit. Steve makes a noise like he’s dying and fists his hands in Bucky’s ridiculous $200 t-shirt and just _holds_ _on_.

“Fuck Steve, yeah,” Bucky is groaning against Steve’s neck. He’s rutting up against Steve now, full on, in broad daylight. They’re definitely both going to come. Steve knows Bucky is doing is on purpose. He knows Bucky literally doesn’t give a fuck and oh God, that should not be as much of a turn-on as it is, should it? But Bucky is rolling his hips, pressing his denim-clad dick right up against Steve’s and Steve is just…helpless. Hopeless. _Gone_.

He comes with a cry muffled into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky throws his head back and comes not ten seconds later, ostentatious and loud, the tendons in his neck straining. People are staring. Bucky just kisses Steve one more time – hard – and goes around to the driver’s side door.

“Get in,” he nods.

Steve does.

* * *

They’re speeding through Soho, which should be impossible but somehow isn’t with Bucky at the wheel, when Bucky finally speaks. He turns the hard rock station down on the radio – it’s something operatic and ridiculous and Steve thinks he should be able to identify it but he can’t. It’s definitely one of those bands that Sam makes fun of but Bucky unabashedly loves. Bucky’s been rocking out on the steering wheel one-handed, whipping through the gears and weaving through traffic and passerby and breakneck speed when he suddenly stops.

“Listen, Stevie,” he says, all charm, and oh no, this is _not_ going to be good. Not at all. “I’ve been thinking…” _Definitely_ not good. Bucky Barnes and the phrase “I’ve been thinking” has never, ever resulted in anything good for Steve’s dick or arrest record. Steve sits up a little straighter in his seat, tries to look important and moral and Captain America. Decidedly _not_ like a guy who just came in his pants from getting rutted up against a ridiculously expensive car in broad daylight by his childhood love. He’s pretty sure he fails. There are a lot of stains on his blue jeans right now and his $5-for-three white tee is sweaty as fuck. Bucky is still speaking, making some kind of pitch.

 _God. Deliver. Us._ is all Steve can think.

But see, the thing is, for all that Bucky seems like a bad influence, there is a reason that Steve and Bucky are friends. Bucky was the schemer, the charmer, yes. But Steve wasn’t some perfect ingénue-type cast across from Bucky’s bad-boy foil. It’s like this. Captain America is a lot of things to a lot of people. Always has been. Steve Rogers, however, is a different story. He’s ornery, sullen, and skilled. He’s good at subterfuge, and the fact that people think he’s not really only underscores how good he actually is. He is easily pissed off, extremely motivated, and scrappy as hell when he needs to be. He also can’t stand bullies and is not at all above messing with them to even the score. Bucky is still talking, and while Captain America may or may not have any interest, Steve Rogers is very, very interested indeed. And not just on account of Bucky Barnes’ fantastic face and dick.

“So I’m _saying_ , I have all these skills. You have all these skills. We should use them,” Bucky is using his I’m-so-very-reasonable, you-should-listen-to-me voice.

That’s _..._ v _ery_ not good. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to ignore the semi that voice always gives him, and gets out, “So what do you want to do, Buck?” even though he thinks maybe he already has an idea of what Bucky’s going to say.

It turns out he does _not_.

Like, at _all_.

Because Bucky twists all the way around in his seat, eyes totally off the road, and before Steve can freak out about _that_ , he says, “I want to rob banks.”

Whiteout.

Steve’s brain is in whiteout.

It’s just not working.

What the fuck?

He is a superhero. Bucky is a…quasi-superhero. They are friends with law enforcement personnel.

They can’t rob banks.

They’re not even _poor_.

But Bucky is bored and a little bit evil and talking about how it will keep them sharp and they’ll do their research and only steal from rich conglomerates and asshole CEOs and they’ll give all the money to charities benefitting the earth and the orphans and they can be _modern day Robin Hoods_ , Stevie, what do you think?

The excited, alive look on Bucky’s face tells Steve all he needs to know. Honestly, he knew it before Bucky even opened his big, dumb, sexy-as-fuck mouth.

“Be my boyfriend and let’s do this,” are the words that come out of Steve’s big, dumb mouth.

He doesn’t even have time to be shocked at himself, because in the next second, Bucky is screeching into an abandoned parking structure and throwing himself at Steve like he’s desperate for it before the car is even fully in park.

Steve throws his head back against the embossed leather headrest as Bucky unbuckles his belt and yanks down the zip.

“Wanted you forever,” he gasps, “Love you,” and then before Steve can even respond with an “I love you, too, you jerk,” Bucky is taking him down and Steve really can’t speak at all for long, long minutes.

Later, Steve takes Bucky out for sushi at Nobu and rents out a whole private room just for the two of them, because contrary to popular belief, he Bucky and Tony are not the only two Avengers who know how to do it up right. Steve knows when it counts. He feeds Bucky $500 sake and raw fish and kisses the hell out of him and tells him he loves him, _so much_. Bucky in turn lets Steve ruin his custom-made Tom Ford suit pants in the bathroom. The outside material is black. But the inner lining is a violent purple, with slits and hidden pockets for extra knives. For God’s sake, there’s currently a garrote tying up Bucky’s hair while he gives Steve a very violent, very enthusiastic blowjob on his knees, then sits himself back on the counter, pulls Steve on top of him, and encourages him to rut until he comes all over the pants. Steve is horrified and starts to apologize profusely.

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky says. His mouth is kiss-bitten and swollen, and his pupils are huge. “That was hot as fuck. I don’t even need you to suck my cock.” Steve starts to protest but Bucky just laughs, flippant, and goes, “Steve, honey, I’m done. Came watching you lose it all over my fancy pants. You really like my thighs, huh?” Steve ducks his head, sheepish, and blurts out the truth about his Winter Soldier murder strut fantasies.

Bucky’s eyes gleam all the way back to the table, where he throws his platinum card down and pays the check, utterly unconcerned about his obvious sex hair and stained pants. The crazy thing? Not a single patron or member of the wait staff bats an eye. _That’s_ how confident this recovered Bucky Barnes is. Steve is kind of stupidly in love that for him.

* * *

A month later, they’re scheduled to hit the first bank. A corrupt CEO has an account there, stuffed full with cash from the baby seal fur trade and illegal ivory carvings. Even Steve is raring to go on this one. Bucky comes out of the bathroom wearing the Winter Soldier tac pants and strapped with holsters on both thighs. Steve almost passes out. He’s sitting on the floor, tying up his boots, so Bucky looks extra huge and intimidating as he stalks towards Steve, murder strut on full display. He casually flips a knife in his right palm and Steve pops a full-on boner. Bucky just laughs, kisses him, and says, “Gotta go, babe. After, though.” His eyes are full of dirty promise.

Five hours later, Steve comes untouched with his head thrown back against the shower wall, Bucky’s powerful thighs the only thing holding them both up. And if he shoots a little farther than usual, well, they just bankrupted an asshole CEO. There are two backpacks and a full duffle bag's worth of cash and artifacts missing their provenance sitting in their foyer. So, yeah. Just like scrappy 1940s Bucky is still alive and well, little Stevie Rogers is still in there, too. And he gets off _so_ _hard_ on taking down bullies.

* * *

Seven months later, Steve is stuffing stolen Peruvian gold into a backpack earmarked for the National Museum of History when he turns around and…oh God.

Bucky’s standing there, in the middle of all the chaos of another pilfered vault, holding out a gold ring and looking at Steve with big wet eyes and Steve just…

“Is this a stolen ring?” Steve asks, suspicious. There are 15 open safety deposit boxes with their contents dumped out all over the vault floor around them.

“Technically,” Bucky hedges, “yes. But, it was your mom’s ring. I did some research and this asshole stole it in 1973 and I-“

Steve cuts him off with a kiss. Then -

“Are you proposing to me in the middle of a _crime scene_?”

“Is that a problem?” Bucky asks, looking gutted.

“Not even a little,” Steve, confirmed adrenaline junkie and complete idiot for Bucky Barnes, says. “I would love to marry you, baby.”

And then Bucky’s sliding the ring on his finger and they’re both crying, and then they’re kissing, and then fifteen minutes later Bucky is wiping his mouth off and the timer is blaring and Steve is trying to shove his own hard-on into his fucking stupid tac pants so they can get the hell out of there.

“When we get home baby,” Bucky promises.

They’ve never clocked such good time on the escape before or since.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'll be writing more or not, but I'll leave you with this:
> 
> "I could get used to this life of luxury and crime," Steve laughs, hair haloed on the white bedsheets in their hotel in Budapest.
> 
> "Told ya, pal," Bucky smirks back. 
> 
> There are five bags of loot on the floor by the luggage rack, the sun isn't due to come up for another three hours, and they've got nothing but time.


End file.
